


better if you do

by aphrodite_mine



Category: Bridesmaids
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-31
Updated: 2011-07-31
Packaged: 2017-10-22 00:41:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/231754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aphrodite_mine/pseuds/aphrodite_mine





	better if you do

**Author's Note:**

  * For [brocanteur](https://archiveofourown.org/users/brocanteur/gifts).



The truth is that deep down in this place that she tries to keep hidden, Annie kind of likes it.

The whole being-waited-on-hand-and-foot thing, the bell-jingling-butler-coming thing, the $50-appetizer?-sure! thing. Ask her, and she’ll deny it to the end of her days, but if being friends with Lillian means she’s got to play nice with  _Helen_ , then… well, she might as well get the whole package. The champagne in the middle of the afternoon thing, the chauffeured nights at upscale bars where she doesn’t have to get groped just to get in.

And even deeper down there’s a place that likes to gurgle up mid-bite of finger sandwiches that Helen herself isn’t that bad either. Helen who looks away, embarrassed when Annie laughs too loudly in an enclosed space; Helen who pushes her chair back in to the table when she steps away to take a phone call and comes back, the rims of her eyes slightly red; Helen who, on Annie’s birthday, shows up at her door and hands her a wrapped envelope containing a voucher for full spa package.

 _(Annie won’t go. They both know that. She’ll smile and make some joke about cucumber allergies and hand it back, rushing back in to her apartment to answer a phone that clearly isn’t ringing. And Helen will smile back, absently, tuck the envelope in her purse, and drive away.)_

It’s easy, though, this time to just say yes. To pick up her purse and follow Helen back down the stairs (slow going in heels) and let herself go for a few hours. You can’t, something whispers in her head, from a very distinct deep down place, the one that says words like Responsibility and Integrity.

“You’re not just gonna leave me there, are you? I mean, I never know how these,” Annie waves her hand at the car interior. Faux-leather seats. Maybe real leather. She doesn’t ask. “Things work.”

For a moment, Helen is shy, looking up from her lap. Her fingers are laced neatly over her purse. Something vintage and exquisitely new at the same time. “If it wouldn’t ruin your time, I was considering joining you, actually.”

Annie starts to ask why Helen thought this, but it’s obvious to the both of them that they don’t really get along. They engage in this sort of pantomime for Lillian’s sake. Because everything is easier when there isn’t constant bickering, non-stop interruptions and spitting in drinks (and okay, Annie only did that once). Instead, she says: “I don’t mind,” and the part of her that isn’t that deep down part is surprised, but doesn’t disagree.

Later, they’re naked under mud wraps and towels and it’s a weird time to say so, but the words gurgle up mid-martini. Annie looks, for a moment, at a wet lock of hair that’s gotten loose of the towel on Helen’s head, looks at it: pristine and solemn, somehow, resting on her shoulder. The words bubble up and it’s almost like she’s drunk, though Annie knows she’s at  _least_  three away. “Thank you,” she says.

It’s a moment before Helen answers, her voice strangely thick and her eyes strangely wet. “You’re welcome, Annie. Happy birthday.”


End file.
